


the lights we chase

by growlery writes (growlery)



Category: All For The Game - Nora Sakavic
Genre: Asexuality Spectrum, Explicit Consent, M/M, Non-Sexual Intimacy, Post-Canon, Relationship Negotiation, extremely pointless prickly softness, one (1) oc who has much too complex a backstory for how little she appears in this fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-25
Updated: 2020-06-25
Packaged: 2021-03-04 01:33:59
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,591
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24915424
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/growlery/pseuds/growlery%20writes
Summary: Andrew had inclined his head, almost a nod. The amusement hadn't faded, at least from his face, and Neil had raised his hand to trace the shape of it, waiting until Andrew had nodded to touch two fingers to his cheek. The smile had grown until his teeth were bared, and Neil had brought his thumb to the air above the corner of Andrew's mouth."No," Andrew had said, and Neil had let go.
Relationships: Neil Josten/Andrew Minyard
Comments: 14
Kudos: 178





	the lights we chase

**Author's Note:**

> it's been a few years since i read the books, but i've been reading a lot of fic and feeling a lot of feelings, and this sprang basically fully-formed from my brain. apologies for any inaccuracies. 
> 
> content note for very vague allusions to past rape, nothing explicit.

Andrew knocks on Neil's door just as Neil's about to go down for his pre-game nap. There's nothing on his face, nothing in his voice when he says, "Yes or no," but Neil doesn’t need anything more. He's not arrogant enough to think he knows Andrew completely, but he knows enough. He nods, catches himself immediately, says, "Yeah," shifting over on the bed so Andrew can take that side, closest to the door. 

Andrew doesn't. His eyes slide over the space that's opened up, then continue to Neil's window, opened slightly to let a draught chill the air. Andrew pushes on the glass with one hand and takes his cigarettes out with the other. 

"Couldn't smoke in your own room?" Neil gripes, and Andrew ignores him. There's an ashtray waiting for him on the windowsill, after all. 

He hasn't moved, a strange tableau of a still life that’s haphazardly arranged, refuses to be simplified. Andrew's not wearing a shirt, just his armbands and a pair of Foxes sweatpants that might be Neil's, now he looks closely. They're not too discerning about laundry, and the sweatpants are rolled at the ankle, and something familiar tugs at Neil's chest at the sight of his bare, vulnerable feet. 

"You should sleep."

Neil's retort is automatic. "So should you." He looks again at the taut lines of Andrew's body. "Can you?"

"Shut up." _Don't ask questions you know the answer to_. Neil shrugs, conceding that one; it's not like Andrew can see him do it. 

He lies down, closes his eyes. He's usually pretty good at napping, if he focuses on relaxing his body, clearing his mind. They don't usually nap together, for too many reasons to bother counting. Neil's not worried, exactly. He just doesn't want to leave Andrew like this. 

He was fine at practice this morning, Neil thinks. He seemed fine at practice. 

The lighter clicks. There's a barely audible exhale, and then the smell of smoke is wisping through the room. Neil doesn't hear an inhale. Frowning, he opens his eyes; as he watches, Andrew stares out of the window, holding his lit cigarette, letting it burn down to the filter. Neil wonders briefly if he's finally yielded to Kevin's demands that he quit now he’s a pro athlete, and has to hold in a laugh at the thought of Andrew doing something Kevin wanted him to do because Kevin wanted him to do it. 

Neil closes his eyes again. Sleep seems closer, now, somehow. Maybe it's the smoke. Maybe it's the quiet stillness Andrew always brings with him. Neil hears the lighter flick again, then nothing but slow, even breathing which he finds himself matching without thinking about it, and then he finds himself doing nothing at all. 

He wakes up when the bed shifts, a reflex he hasn't shaken. Andrew has a hand on the empty side of the bed and nothing more, watching Neil evenly. 

"Yes," Neil answers, a little croaky. He rolls back over to stare at the ceiling while Andrew lies down next to him. He's put on a shirt that Neil squints at, mistakes for his own, then realises it's one of Andrew's he's been wearing for weeks without noticing. Andrew raises his eyebrows a millimetre. Neil smiles in response. 

"Sorry," he says, and Andrew says, flat, "You're not," and Neil's smile softens. 

"I'm not," he agrees. "Looks better on you, though."

"Liar," Andrew says, and Neil wants to kiss him, press him into the sheets and inhale the smoke off his skin. It's a fleeting urge, easily dismissed, but not quickly enough for Andrew not to notice it flash across Neil's face. His eyebrows raise a millimetre more. 

He still has that hand resting on the bed, barely compressing the mattress, holding that space between him and Neil. Neil doesn't cross it, but he moves his own hand so that it's hovering above Andrew's, and waits until Andrew nods before he lowers it. He keeps most of the weight off. No real pressure. Just his palm against the back of Andrew's hand. Andrew's knuckles flex, and for a moment Neil thinks he miscalculated, but then Andrew's fingers spread and lift to twine together with Neil's. 

"We need to leave soon," Andrew says. He's not looking at Neil, but he's not _not_ looking at Neil, either. 

Neil nods. "How soon?"

"About ten minutes ago."

"Andrew," Neil says, exasperated. Andrew shrugs very slightly, and there's that tugging in Neil's chest again. 

"We won't be late," Andrew says. He's looking at their joined hands now, eyes flickering. Neil squeezes very lightly, very briefly, and Andrew squeezes back. "Let go."

Neil does. Andrew leaves his hand there for a few seconds more, then curls it into a fist, nails scratching over his palm. Then he lets go. 

*

They do end up being late, but in Andrew's defence, it's only because Neil can't find his shoes, and not because Andrew fails to drive like the speed demon he is to the arena. 

No one believes them when Neil explains, which is annoying. It's happened enough times that Andrew has who-knows-how-seriously suggested they put a tracker in Neil’s shoes to speed up the process of recovering them. 

Abdelnour gives them her most captainly long-suffering sigh, then winks at them both. She does _something_ with her eyebrows when she tells them not to make a habit of it, and Neil's not completely oblivious, okay. He knows everyone thinks it's because they were fucking, but he's not going to correct them. They can think what they like about him and Andrew. They don't get to have the truth just because they want it. 

"They'd be less annoying," Andrew had said, once. "If they knew."

"Doubtful," Neil had muttered, and Andrew had looked amused in a way that was much less rare, even back then, but familiarity hadn't made it any less sweet. Still hasn't. "It'd just give them more things to be annoying about."

Andrew had inclined his head, almost a nod. The amusement hadn't faded, at least from his face, and Neil had raised his hand to trace the shape of it, waiting until Andrew had nodded to touch two fingers to his cheek. The smile had grown until his teeth were bared, and Neil had brought his thumb to the air above the corner of Andrew's mouth. 

"No," Andrew had said, and Neil had let go. 

*

They win that night, but it's close, no more than a goal between the two teams until the dying minutes of the game, tied at 5-5, and Neil, denied thus far by the other team's goalkeeper, hits one home. It's a messy goal, no finesse, but it doesn't need finesse to count, which is what he tells the reporters when they ask him about it. Politely, though. He's had enough media training at this point to not want to go through more of it, at the very least. 

"I could _kiss_ you, Josten," yells Abdelnour, loud enough to be heard over the sudden cheering as Neil comes out of a shower stall, hair dripping a little onto the neck of his shirt. Andrew rolls his eyes when Neil's gaze finds him. 

"I'm flattered," he says, unable to keep back his grin, and the room gets a shade quieter to listen, "but no thank you."

The team wants to go to their usual bar to celebrate the win, and Neil's not opposed, but he looks at Andrew, tilting his head in a question. Andrew rolls his eyes, harder than before. Neil doesn't know if it's left him, whatever was haunting him earlier. Neil doesn't think it's the kind that leaves. He won't ask twice, though, not when Andrew's _yes_ is clear. 

The team might be annoying about him and Andrew, but that seems to be where it stops. No one ever tries to get him to drink, or set him up with a stranger, or hit on him with any kind of seriousness. That last part could be Andrew, or at least what they think about Andrew, but it's not like they're glued at the hip when they go out with the team. They're their own people. 

This night isn't any different, although there is a chorus of _ooh_ s when Neil impulsively grabs one of the assembled shot glasses and knocks it back, wincing at the taste. Andrew gives him a cool look across the table the team has commandeered, and Neil grins at him, which must answer Andrew's question, because he looks away. 

Then a bunch of people go up to dance, and Neil goes with them, and when several songs later he stumbles out of the crowd, breathless and laughing, Andrew’s vanished. There's a split-second - just a tiny fraction of time - where Neil panics, but he swallows it down. 

When he sweeps the room, he spots Andrew's distinctive head at the bar, and doesn't relax, because he hadn't done anything he’d need to relax from in the first place. It looks like Andrew's sitting down, judging by the fact Neil can see him over people’s heads at all, possibly waiting to be served since Neil can't see any alcohol in front of him. There's someone sitting at the bar next to him, not leaning into his space but not far away from it, either, rubbing the shaved part of their undercut and smiling at Andrew. 

Again, Neil is nowhere near as oblivious as people like to think he is. Sexual attraction is a mystery to him about ninety per cent of the time, and romantic attraction only slightly less so, but that doesn't mean he can't recognise the signs in other people. Especially when one of those people is Andrew. 

Neil is reasonably confident of several things: one, that this person is trying to hit on Andrew; two, that Andrew is not uncomfortable with what is happening; three, that Andrew's actively interested in it going somewhere. Well, he's pretty fucking certain of number two, otherwise he'd already be there pushing between them. 

He could be wrong about number three, he supposes. He doesn't have a lot of data. Maybe Andrew looks different when he's interested in people who aren't Neil. 

Best to leave them to it, either way. Neil's about to turn back towards their now barely-populated table when Andrew's head turns, meeting Neil's gaze straight on. His eyes narrow slightly, and then he lifts a hand, clearly motioning Neil over. Neil goes without thought. 

Andrew's face changes, a bright, bland smile flickering on like a torch, and he says, "Hey, honey."

Neil tries not to obviously grimace. "Hello, darling," he says, because if he's gonna play along he's gonna up the ante. Andrew's eyes flicker. "Who's your friend?"

Andrew turns back to the stranger, eyebrows slightly raised. They’ve moved right back in their chair, face flushing. 

"Uh, no one."

Andrew smiles again. "Uh no one, this is my boyfriend, Neil."

"Hey," Neil says, and, "Sorry about him," even though he isn't, really. But it'll annoy Andrew, and he's annoyed at Andrew, so. 

"You could've just told them you weren't interested," Neil mutters, swinging himself up into the chair that the stranger swiftly vacated. 

"This seemed more efficient," Andrew says, not blinking at Neil's deeply sceptical look. "And you looked like you were thinking stupid things."

Neil inhales, deep. "You know you can hook up with other people if you want."

Andrew lifts his drink to his lips. Neil hadn't noticed it arrive. "I do," Andrew says. 

"But you haven't."

"I haven't," Andrew agrees. 

"I don't mind."

"I know," Andrew says. With effort, Neil unclenches his teeth. 

"Then why-" 

"Don't be boring," Andrew says, flicking him a dismissive look. "I don't want. So I haven't."

Neil swallows the first thing he wants to snap back to that, and the second, and the third. He takes a few seconds to form what he wants to say in his head; Andrew watches him impassively. 

"It's not that I think I'm not enough for you," Neil starts, halting. "Or that I think you think that. I'm not enduring the thought of you fucking other people because I think I'll lose you otherwise."

Andrew's face doesn't change at all. Neil sighs. 

"Give me some fucking credit," he says, exasperated. "And yourself."

Andrew takes another drink, not taking his eyes off Neil. Neil steps in the tiniest bit closer. 

"I just know you like it," he says. "I know it helps you, sometimes, and I can't always give it to you." He laughs, corrects himself. "Usually."

Slow enough for Neil to step away, Andrew reaches out towards Neil's hips. Neil doesn't step away. Andrew’s grip is steady, but not firm, and Neil leans into it. 

"Hang on," comes Abdelnour’s voice from behind them, "Minyard, did I hear you call Josten your _boyfriend_?"

Neil groans. Andrew says, not looking away, "A convenient way to dispense of unwelcome attention." He lets his hands drop and gets to his feet. "Thank you for your assistance, Neil."

"Any time," Neil says, wryly. Abdelnour narrows her eyes, looking between the two of them. "In fact, I think they're still watching. I should walk you out in case they come back."

"You should," Andrew says, and nothing else, leaving their captain to shake her head at them and Neil to follow, like he always does. Like he always will. 

*

Neil waits until Andrew’s shut the door to their apartment before he asks, "Can we sleep together tonight? Just sleep," he adds, probably unnecessarily, but whatever. Clarity is good. Specifics are good. 

Andrew nods. "Your room," he says. 

Neil gets under the covers to wait for Andrew. He doesn't wait long, but Andrew goes to the window, first, hovering for a moment before pushing it open. When he comes to bed, he lies down on top of the covers, facing away from Neil. 

"Can we lie like this," Andrew asks. "But closer."

Neil tucks his smile into his chest. "You want me to spoon you?"

Andrew sighs tolerantly. "Yes. Like this."

"Yes," Neil says, not missing the slight emphasis in Andrew's voice. He glances at the window, then back to Andrew, the deliberate way he has stretched out an arm in front of his body. Neil's hand twitches to hold it, but he keeps it where it is, resting on his thigh over the covers. 

Andrew shifts minutely backward, then pushes himself back all the way in one swift motion. His neck bumps Neil's nose, barely hard enough to notice, and Neil feels him loosen through the fabric separating their bodies. Andrew doesn't move his head away. Neil's hand twitches again. 

"Should I put my arm away?" 

Andrew's silent for a moment. Then: "Do what you want," he says.

Neil wants a bunch of things. Mostly they are things that overlap with things that Andrew wants, which probably says more about how relatively few active desires Neil has than any kind of compatibility between them. This, though. He isn’t sure. 

"Can I hold your hand," he asks. It’s pragmatics more than permission; he can't exactly reach it with the way they’re arranged. But Neil isn’t sure, and he has to be. 

Andrew brings his arm back to his side, flexing his hand like a relay runner reaching for the baton. When Neil's hand covers his, he pulls his arm forward again, bringing their joined hands to rest on his stomach. Neil feels, momentarily, like his chest is going to cave in on itself. 

He sublimates the feeling into squeezing Andrew's hand. Andrew squeezes back. 


End file.
